


In the Valley of the Shadow of Death

by Dusty_Forgotten



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 15:33:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1190388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dusty_Forgotten/pseuds/Dusty_Forgotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Left to his own devices, how will the Malpais Legate, the Burned Man, Joshua Graham, deal with his worst enemy?</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Valley of the Shadow of Death

If she hadn’t bought that reflex-improving implant before signing up with Happy Trails, that landslide would have killed her. Though, she wasn’t sure if ‘landslide’ was the right word. _Is it still a landslide if it’s probably caused by C-4?_ The courier slung her rifle over her back and gripped a crevice, trying to find footing on another stone- which settled under her weight.

“This is taking too long.” Joshua Graham drawled, and the brunette nodded in agreement, hopping back into the shallow water.

“Yeah, you’re right.” she conceded, surveying their surroundings.

“I’m going to find another way around.” the Burned Man responded, sloshing around.

“No...” Erin began, searching for a detour. She thanked her affinity for the dark; she never would have seen that gap in the rocks otherwise. “No, I just found our alternate.”

She turned, but he was already gone. Courier Six sighed, holding her 10mm at her side while she backtracked and ascended the slopes. It was a bit of a roundabout hike (which she expected), but the Dead Horses and Sorrows seemed to have already taken most of the White Legs (which she had not). She was especially struck when one of her tribal allies caught a fleeing White Leg woman, forced her to her knees, and shot her through the crown.

“Excuse me?” Erin Holt called, holstering her pistol for good measure. “Have you seen Joshua?”

The man didn’t seem to understand her, but he pointed up another slope at the mention of Joshua’s name. She dipped her head in practiced gratitude and followed. It only occurred to her halfway up the incline that details of that execution (weight balanced on his back foot, out of the target’s reach, forced to their knees) were not things a tribal would simply ‘pick up’. _Who taught them that?_

She squeezed through a bottleneck between cliffs, and there he was. Joshua forced what she guessed was the White Legs shaman (judging from the unique tattoos) to his knees in line with a ranked woman, and who she could only assume to be Salt-Upon-Wounds. _Joshua taught them that. Of course._

She stopped a foot in front of Death Row as the Burned Man drew his .45 auto and planted a bullet in the skull of the woman and shaman mid-prayer.

He could have ended it there; could have added one more shot to the succession unceremoniously and she couldn’t have stopped it, but the Malpais Legate in him couldn’t deny the urge to gloat.

“We warned you at Syracuse, and you persisted. You took advantage of us at New Canaan to drive us out, and like the dogs of Caesar you are, you followed us to Zion. And now you stand on holy ground, a temple to God’s glory on earth.”

He raised the pistol again and lined up his last shot. “-But the only use for an animal in our temple is sacrifice.”

Graham hesitated then. Erin could only guess the Legate wasn’t satisfied without hearing a victim this important beg. She could relate. “Kale watcha nei conserva oh! You understand me, don’t you? **Don’t you**?”

It was then the chieftain looked up to her, and plead in broken English for his pitiful life. “Hush.” was all she met him with.

“Don’t listen to this... _thing._ His cries are that of a beast caught in a thicket! He showed no mercy to my family, and I will show none to his.”

His aim, which had faltered slightly, readjusted.

“Let’s think for a moment here-” Erin blurted as quickly as she could without sounding desperate, “if you will. He’s not going anywhere.”

She had him the moment his eyes flickered to meet hers, even before he lowered the pistol to dangle at his side. “You have my attention.”

The courier formulated her words carefully. “I’ve heard stories about the Malpais Legate, and he was one terrifying, sadistic bastard. He’d kill Salt-Upon-Wounds, no problem, and even hang the body as a warning.”

Joshua Graham’s shoulders coincided with the full breath he inhaled as his gaze moved to the prisoner, then fell upon her as she spoke further.

“I met the Burned Man in Angel Cave, checking weapons to defend his adopted tribe and quoting scripture to me like I didn’t already know it. The Burned Man would let him go because God is merciful, and so is he. Joshua Graham, you are not the Malpais Legate anymore.”

His grip loosened on the .45 at that, resigned.

“You’re not the Burned Man, either- no matter what the legends say. I don’t care what you do here: let him go, I’ll follow you when we walk out, or, hell, you could light _him_ on fire and throw him off the cliff: I’d give you my lighter. I just want you to know how important this is. Joshua Graham, who are you?”

He glared at Salt-Upon-Wounds, examined his gun, then back to his captive contemplatively. Finally, his hands dropped to his sides, pistol with them, as his eyes met hers again. Erin’s entire body relaxed.

He glanced off to the side, back to the patriarch, and before she could react, Joshua blew the man’s brains out.

There was silence as the Malpais Legate, the Burned Man, Joshua Graham, holstered his weapon. “ _Cursed be he that keepeth back his sword from blood._ Jeremiah 48:10.”


End file.
